


Honey Wood

by witblogi



Series: Suggestive is my Middle Name [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Facials, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witblogi/pseuds/witblogi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"...But this is a serious problem! Derek doesn’t want to facetime with my Lower Manhattan.” </i><br/> <br/><i>“Maybe he’s just an..uh uptown kind of guy?” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey Wood

**Author's Note:**

> I CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE ANOTHER ONE. Once again I saw a logo for a beautiful wooden honey dipper, but I immediately thought sounds like something Stiles would translate into oral sex AND HERE WE ARE.
> 
> Set in the same universe as slow bone, a few years(?) later. We're ignoring pretty much all of season three at this point because mindless ridiculous porn that's why.

**The Fellowship of the Wood**

Being a fresh college graduate was pretty much everything you’d expect it would be. Mostly relief, mixed in with long awaited sleep of the zombie-dead, looming terror of now having to face the actual real world which could potentially involve things like _neck ties_ , and if you’re really lucky, a lot of long overdue sex. 

Like _a lot_. Stiles is kind of proud of himself, he’s not sixteen anymore. He stretches contentedly in the warm wallow of Derek’s bed, and curls up for at least a few more hours before facing the world. He wouldn’t even be awake right now if Derek hadn’t risen with the sun, mouthing at his shoulder and sliding his thigh up between Stiles’ legs. It was entirely too suggestive and did distracting things to his balls. Who was he to turn down sleepy morning sex?

He’s just drifting in the syrupy place between sleep and the ability to control his thoughts when Derek returns from his shower. He makes familiar getting dressed noises, opening and closing drawers, rustling of cloth, snap of elastic on hipbones, clinking of belt, two hops into the wall- thud - curse for the socks. By the time he’s dressed, Stiles is pretty much awake and creeping on him from the hole in the covers he usually uses for fresh air intake. 

“I’m going to work now.” That’s right, Derek Hale is actually contributing to society at large in a positive way. Granted, as mall security, but the point is he’s _trying._ Before Stiles can so much as mutter unhappily, Derek is sweeping back the cocoon enough to deliver a punctual, heart wrenchingly domestic kiss on his slack mouth and tossing the blankets back over him. 

He licks his lips, tasting the flavor of Derek’s toothpaste, counts his clattering footsteps down the stairs and across the loft, out the door. Stiles blinks into the darkness of the sheets, thinking the slow plod of the recently awoken, and contemplating the mint on his lips. 

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand distracts him momentarily, only long enough to snake one arm out of the dark warmth of the bed to snag it. He flips on the screen and momentarily is blinded by the bright lock screen, but soon the light is adjusting and he can see that Scott is asking if he has any textbooks he wants to sell. 

Scott moved back to Beacon Hills after school the same way Stiles did. He was back for all the same reasons, family and friends, _pack;_ but also because Deaton wanted to pass the clinic off to someone and he had a job neat and waiting for him. Stiles has had years of green eyed friendship to toughen him up but it’s still mildly annoying to get responsible coherent texts in hours that end with AM to remind him how Scott is flourishing. 

He considers texting back, but only for a moment before thumbing Scott’s name and waiting for a call to connect. 

“I’m going over to the used boo-” Scott answers mid conversation, they’ve been like this since high school. Most of junior year’s phone calls started with frantic screaming about how stupid the other one was being, getting himself almost killed like that.

“You know who never has come-breath in the morning?” Stiles interrupts pointedly, derailing Scott’s sentence entirely. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t slightly satisfied by it.

“Uh...” 

“ _Derek._ ” There’s a pause on the other end before Stiles can hear Scott moving, clearly putting something heavy down. 

“I guess you aren’t calling about your textbooks then.” 

“But no seriously, even before he brushes his teeth. I can’t even remember the last time I got a BJ that actually had a finale.” Stiles bites at a stubby nail, staring at the sheet draped on his face until his eyes start hurting. 

“Okay, so we’re really gonna talk about this.” The scrape of a chair being pulled and Scott’s body settling into it. 

“Yes, I’m co-dependent, Scott, you’ve known this since puberty.” Stiles finally bats the covers aside, folding them down and sitting up to rub at his eyes. 

“Right, what was I thinking.” Scott’s voice is dry and Stiles can imagine the exact unamused look on his face but he doesn’t have time to be annoyed by it. 

“I have no idea Dude, but this is a serious problem! Derek doesn’t want to facetime with my Lower Manhattan.” 

“Maybe he’s just an..uh uptown kind of guy?” 

Stiles sighs dramatically, mind spinning over what could have possibly changed - well not that Derek has ever been super enthusiastic about giving oral. Then again, Stiles doesn’t really have a very good control group as he tends to lean towards the orally fixated and _loves_ giving head. So, comparatively, Derek isn’t into it. 

“Listen, maybe you should just _ask_ Derek-” 

“Maybe it’s the flavour? Like my jizz is just _that_ unappetizing. Maybe that’s it! The super werewolfy senses are making everything ten times more intense.” Stiles scratches the pathetic fuzz his jaw sprouts in place of a beard and contemplates Derek’s picky eating. Maybe he’s not just an organic-only douche-wolf and really _does_ have a finer palette. 

“Super werewolf...taste?” Scott sounds skeptical.

“Well yeah, you have super everything else, why not taste right?” Stiles sticks his own tongue out at that, trying to imagine being able to taste in high definition.

“I guess?” 

“Great. That must be it. Thanks, buddy!” He kicks back the sheets and swings his legs over to the side of the bed. 

“I really think you should actually _talk_ to Derek about this.” Scott says in his serious worried voice, but Stiles isn’t actually very worried. He’s a _little_ worried for the sake of his love of blow jobs, but it’s not like he’s going untapped or anything. Hell, he’s not even going un-sucked. It’s more the challenge of the thing at this point, the _mystery._ Stiles never could resist a mystery.

“Yeah. Okay gotta go, lots of theories to test. See you next Sunday!” He stands at last, bringing the phone down as he starts towards the washroom.

“Wait. Theories? _Stile-”_

He thumbs the end call button, scratches his belly and yawns, toeing the door closed behind him. 

**The Two Tastes**

The internet as it turns out, has many amusing and disturbing things to tell Stiles about the taste of come. How the taste can be _altered_ however is a finer art to master. Apparently _you are what you eat_ is a motto that Stiles should have been taking to heart much earlier as several factors of diet apparently can change the distinct notes in your man juice. Stiles forces himself to not dwell on the thought of sniffing and swirling semen and tries to focus on the task at hand. 

He shifts his hips in his desk chair, leaning his neck into the back and adjusting his grip on his cock. Step one of Operation Make Derek The Cat (That Got The Cream) is gather an initial test sample. Stiles is going about this whole process very scientifically, he even bought speckled notebooks to write his findings down in. All experiments require rigorous testing and multiple trials, and he wasn’t about to question science. 

Hence his current predicament of jerking off in his childhood bedroom with the intention of eating his own jizz making him far more excited and sensitive than it had in a good ten years. He _may_ have gone through an autofellating phase when he was fourteen but all it resulted in was a sore neck, a stinging painfully sensitive eye and his father giving him weary sighs for a week. 

Now it was just the memory of past and future Derek on his knees between Stiles’ legs that was doing it. Making every pull and tug sloppy with precome, curling his toes into the rug under his desk. A slow squeeze of his balls, the same way Derek does it and he’s grunting lowly and coming all over his fist. Before it has a chance to become completely disgusting and the opposite of something he wants to put in his mouth he’s raising his hand to his lips and taking a precise lick. 

He’s not going to lie, it tastes like all the other bodily fluids - salty and not really appetizing but no one expects anything that comes out of their dick to taste like ice cream then do they. Still, he takes more time than usual to assess the flavour and mark out in his pre-made chart his evaluation of bitterness, earthy human tones, texture and general saltiness. 

He wipes his hand and continues making a list of all the possible dietary alterations he could be making to sweeten his particular deal. The internet seems to agree collectively that Stiles should be eating something more like douche-wolf Derek, with all his organic vegetable drinks and lack of processed sugars. Apparently the body is a temple, a temple that requires five dollar broccoli.

It’s a long night of on and off research and masturbation and in the morning when he wakes up with his face kind of stuck to some of the papers on his desk and his whole body feeling gummy he heads straight for the shower, brushing his teeth under the cascade to save time. He feels better in clean clothes...and after opening a window. He looks over his chart’s results from the night before and tries to decipher some of his other notes when there’s a knock at his door. 

“Do I want to know why you ordered a forty dollar case of premium organic creamed honey?” His dad is holding up the sheet of paper he’d peeled from his face on his way to the shower and squinting at him. 

“Ah!” Stiles darts forward to pull it from his fingertips before he happens to get any other more unsavory substances on himself. He looks over the order form, apparently paid for and shipping express. He’s got a lot of honey to eat. 

“Yeah...just y’know,” he makes a general gesture to the universe, “hungry?” 

“You’re gonna go with ‘hungry’.” He gets skeptical brow wrinkle #5. 

“...Yep.” 

“Okay. But just to be clear this had better not come around to be some kind of new fad diet you want to try, Stiles. I like my sugar _sugar_ and I like my coffee _black_.” Dad points at him and then departs for the day giving a vague wave and telling him to apply for some more jobs - the supermarket on tenth is hiring you know. 

Stiles does apply for more jobs, ones actually _using_ his history degree and then calls it a day, plays halo and tries to engage Derek in flirt-texting all afternoon. Derek is hopelessly bad at it, all of his texts sound like answers he’s been tortured into giving. 

What are you wearing right now? 

_Clothing._

Sounds sexy, any colors involved?

_Blue._

He’s still distracted by his phone when the door bell rings and he rises to answer it. On the other side of the door is a courier with a large heavy looking box waiting for him to sign on the dotted. Apparently his express shipping _meant_ it because when he slices open the box in the kitchen it’s full of tall jars of creamed honey. 

He takes one out to examine in the light, noting the simple farm label and with a shrug unscrews the lip and pops off the seal. He snags a spoon from the cutlery drawer and dips it into the viscous liquid, scooping some up for a taste. Less goopy than normal honey, and maybe even a little less sweet, it’s more palatable and Stiles is immediately thinking it’ll taste amazing with butter on toast. 

He looks over the jars and how his spoonful has barely taken a dent out of the one that’s open. He may have gone a little overboard. It would probably take him a week to polish off one jar on his own if he was really trying at it. The rest of it...

Stiles scoops some more honey up and shoves the whole spoon in his mouth, re-applying the lid and then washing the sticky residue from his fingertips. He bounds off to gather up his computer and start compiling recipes. He’s going to have to be subtle if he was going to get his Dad to eat it all this honey with him. 

**The Return of the Wood**

“So, are you going to tell me what you’re plotting now or am I going to have to stare it out of you?” Derek hands him another plate to dry and put away and Stiles practically fumbles it back into the suds. He has that _I’m being smug but not letting on_ look on his face but two can play at that game. 

“What are you talking about? Who’s plotting anything?” 

It’s been one week since the honey regimen was started and his findings are compiling nicely. After the initial swell of lip smacking honey enjoyment the inevitable palette fatigue occurred, making Stiles never want to see, smell or taste honey again. All he could think of as he stirred his jar was that this had once been upchucked by a bee somewhere and now he was willingly putting it in his mouth. 

So he took a break from eating the honey straight up and started experimenting with baking and glazing, but he’s been nothing but discreet about it. 

“Stiles. You brought homemade german honey cookies over yesterday, made honey baked chicken for dinner, and a double chocolate honey bee cake for dessert.”

Okay so maybe discretion isn’t his strongest suit. He put the plate onto its shelf gingerly. 

“What’s your point?” Tonight was the night that the final phase of the operation was hopefully put into place and he didn’t want to rock the boat too much before hand. So what if Derek was onto something, he rarely drew the right conclusions if left to his own methods. 

“Are you trying to bring up pet names or something?” He handed Stiles a dripping mug, turning to focus on scrubbing the pan Stiles had used to bake the chicken. His brow was furrowed in concentration and Stiles dumbly wiped the mug and hung it up slowly while watching him. 

“Pet names.” he echoed distantly. 

“Do you-” Derek gives up on the pan, throwing down his sponge and turning away from the sink, grabbing the towel out of Stiles’ grip to dry his hands, “Want me to call you...anything?” 

“Like _Honey_?” Stiles is fighting to keep the delighted grin off of his face, watching Derek try to have serious well considered adult conversations - especially unnecessary ones is one of his favourite pastimes. Derek looks distinctly uncomfortable but willing to try anything and his grim determination in the face of a pet name is just too precious.

“No. Derek, god, relax. No I’m not trying to get you to call me Honey, I’m just trying to get a blowjob.” He says it casually, tugging the towel back, hoping there’s no strange lie rhythm to the chambers of his heart. It’s not a lie, not at all, it’s just not all of the plan. 

Derek sags visibly before looking at him with poorly concealed lust. 

“You didn’t have to do anything special.” he mutters reaching out with dishwater-hot hands, palming Stiles’ hips roughly. Stiles abandons the towel and lets himself be tugged closer to Derek and further from the counter. 

Derek kisses him sweet and slow and easy. He tastes faintly of chocolate and honey and Stiles chases the taste further into his mouth. Derek’s hands slide under his shirt, ghosting across his sides and pressing down the planes of his back, firm fingertips and gentle palms. Stiles takes ahold of his arms and starts tugging, pushing anything to get this show on the road to somewhere more comfortable. He’s all over the occasional quick and dirty standing up blowie but this is something he wants to savour, be lazy about. 

Derek seems to catch his drift leading them at a quicker pace around the sofa pulling back from their kisses to shoot Stiles a dark grin before shoving him back into the cushions. Stiles always knew Derek had a thing for shoving him around. He doesn't have much time to bitch about it though, Derek’s spreading his thighs and lowering himself gracefully between them. 

Stiles can’t help but grin and scoot forward, tingly aroused jolts rushing down his spine and collecting in his groin, thickening his cock already. He kind of feels like a king like this, sitting with someone else on their knees in front of him. His feelings are clearly written on his face as Derek looks up at him with fond exasperation. 

“Comfortable?” He asks with overly judgy eyebrows and Stiles wriggles into the cushions a little more, reaches out and smoothes the pads of his thumbs over the heavy brows before him. 

“Very.”  
Derek turns to kiss the inside of his wrist, sliding hands over thighs and wrapping them around the back of his jeans, dipping curious fingers underneath the band just a bit. He rucks up Stiles’ shirt with his nose snuffling at the dark trail of hair he reveals while his hands come back around, following seams and creases into the dark hot place where leg meets hip. 

Derek mouths at his belly while his hands map out the lay of his cock, touches muffled and blunted by too many layers of fabric. As much as Stiles is always trying to rush things it’s equally tempered by his wanting to enjoy the slow tease. He wants to be out of his mind with lust and love unable to concentrate on anything but feeling and Derek. 

He’s uncomfortably hard now and Derek can obviously tell, working the button and zip of his jeans one handed while the other holds his hip, breathing hot, scorching right into the head of his dick. When he reaches one hand into Stiles’ pants and pulls it back with a firm grasp of his cock he looks smirky, and pleased. 

“This what you wanted?” He’s such a snot. Stiles shrugs and shuffles obligingly as Derek works his jeans and boxers down his hips just enough to get them out of the way. 

“What I had in mind had a lot more sucking but-” Derek bows his head over him and does just that, the shocky warmth and wetness of his mouth all at once breaking Stiles’ thought all together. He clutches for Derek’s shoulders and tries not to buck upward. It’s easier to control when he’s sitting than lying flat on his back, but Derek isn’t unskilled in the art of laving and twirling his tongue just right. 

“Oh _god,_ ” he pants. The unfortunate side effect of having Derek’s mouth otherwise occupied was the truly horrific amount of talking he always ended up doing. Spewing whatever came to mind, dirty talk that got repetitive and embarrassing and not necessarily always sexy. Derek says it doesn’t bother him, that it’s just another _Stiles_ thing that he’s grown to love like an ugly puppy. 

“Yes. Oh, _oh_ keep with your tongue.” Stiles keeps up the stream of colour commentary, eyes fixed to the way Derek’s long straight nose looks bowed over his pelvis, his eyelashes dark over his cheeks. He works his hand tightly along the base of Stiles’ cock wringing sensation and keeping everything at bay in frustrating tides. 

“So good, always so good _your mouth._ ” The soft wet noises Derek makes around him are setting him on edge. It’s getting kind of sloppy but in the best way where everything is hot and slippery, a mixture of saliva and precome that makes getting and giving head, in Stiles’ opinion, sinfully good.

It’s all he can think about now, nearing the finale, the fluid leaking from him already honey-sweet as Derek swirls his tongue over his slit. 

“Yeah. Get it. That _honey wood._ ”

Derek pauses and pulls back with a definite slurp. His lips are shiny red and his chin is damp with his own spit, Stiles’ cock gives a forlorn throb where it’s still held in Derek’s fist. 

“What did you say?” 

“Nothing. I don’t know, don’t leave me like this!” Stiles practically wails but it only makes Derek let go of him entirely, moving back to sit on his heels. He wipes at his face with his wrist and doesn’t turn his gaze from Stiles’ face. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” 

Stiles squirms uncomfortably, dick cooling where it’s been left unattended. He struggles with the urge to cover himself, or at least wrap a comforting hand around the little dude, but he also doesn’t want to get his hand all sticky. 

“I really don’t-” 

“Stiles.” Derek’s eyes aren’t red, but the clench of his jaw is giving away his impatience with this vein of conversation. 

“Well...” Stiles swallows and purses his lips trying to formulate exactly how to explain the delicate situation.

“ _Today._ ” 

“It’s that! Would you relax for five fricken minutes! Where is the fire Derek? Weren’t you the one who was all about the slow bo-” he cuts himself off, Derek still doesn’t like when he calls it that, “Savouring the moment and our feelings and _whatever_? Lately it’s all...one size fits all.” He gives in a grabs a cushion to cover his wilting erection with.

“What are you _talking about_?” Derek stares at him like he’s grown another head, “I just want to know why you’re so obsessed with honey. What does _‘one size fits all’_ even mean?” 

“It _means_ I just want a blow job from _start_ to _finish_ every now and then.” Stiles snaps at him, gesturing out the duration of said blow job with both hands. Derek leans his elbows on Stiles’ knees and presses his face into his hands. 

“I love you, Derek. I do, and I love our sex but sometimes, variety? Head is not strictly foreplay and no convenient lube territory.” 

“And the honey?” Derek mutters sounding tired. Stiles had almost forgotten about that. He feels an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck, kissing at the tips of his ears. 

“It’s a funny story.” That makes Derek look up at him from behind his hands and Stiles sighs. “I figured maybe you just weren’t that into it? Like maybe it was your super taste interacting badly with my spunk and you’d just finally given up pretenses of trying because you knew I’d stick around anyway. Or...something. So I thought, you know, I’d sweeten the deal. Make it better for you.” 

“...With honey.” 

“Yep.” 

“You’re supposed to use pineapple juice, you idiot and that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. _Stiles._ ” Derek looks torn between crying and bursting into hysterical laughter, “Why didn’t you just _ask me_ to suck your dick?” 

“I didn’t know it was that easy!” He flailed even as Derek leaned back and gestured to the kitchen where they’d been doing dishes and now where they were mid-fellatio. 

“I thought you’d get all weird about it!” 

“Because this current situation isn’t weird at all.” Derek sighs and reaches for the pillow. Stiles hands fly down to grip it tightly in response. 

“What are you doing?” Derek looks ridiculously unimpressed with him now, curling his own fingers around the edge of the cushion. 

“I’m finishing what I started. You wanted this, and you clearly put a _lot_ of thought into it so...” He gives a tug. 

“I’m taking offense to that, but lucky for you I’ve been conditioned over the years to find your acerbic wit attractive and this is only making me horny.” Stiles finally lets go and Derek’s fairly yanks the pillow aside, sneering just a little at the wet marks on the underside. Stiles opens his mouth to protest that wasn’t his fault when Derek grabs his cock in a probably tighter than necessary grip. 

“Shut up and lemme taste your honey jizz already.” 

“Oh you charmer, you- _oh._ ” Stiles doesn’t resist the urge to fist his hand in Derek’s thick hair this time when he fits his mouth over the head of his cock. He’s willing to take the chance at Derek being upset about his hair being mussed if it might keep his dick from being bitten off. 

Derek’s efforts have re-doubled, apparently being kind of pissed off makes him suck dick like a champ or something. Maybe it’s a vendetta against Stiles’ stupidity, trying to suck his brain out through his dick.

“Unh... _Derek!_ God who taught you how to do this.” Derek tilts his head back and looks at him with flat unimpressed eyebrows and gorgeous eyes and Stiles groans and closes his own eyes to the sight. 

“Don’t answer that. You’re so good,” he whimpers, letting his arm slide with the bob of Derek’s head. It’s only a few more moments before he feels embarrassingly close and his thighs are tensing, shaking under Derek’s hands, hips jerking abortively. 

Stiles could probably stay on the edge like this for a long time, but Derek knows all his buttons and mashes them mercilessly now. He pulls off just far enough to breath hot and cool over the slick tip of his cock. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks, voice wrecked and low, looking up at him with those eyes, “Give it to me.” 

Stiles is coming before he even realizes what’s happening. He’s definitely tagged Derek’s face, and it only makes everything fever bright and ridiculously hot. He tightens his fist in Derek’s hair, groaning wickedly as the searing heat of his mouth returns around him for the last few wrenching spurts. 

When Derek finally leans back, Stiles feels the equivalent of a noodle, draped carelessly over the ugly blue sofa in the loft. He watches distantly as Derek wipes come out of his beard and rolls the last of the flavour around in his mouth.

“So?” he asks muzzily, seriously all the energy in his body has seemingly also departed out his dick. 

“It’s alright.” Derek wipes the extra jizz on Stiles’ exposed hip, “I like normal you better though.” he places an almost delicate kiss on the opposite hip. 

“God. Okay. We’re doing that again though right? Many times? It’s almost not fair. No man should have that kind of skill honestly.” Stiles sighs bringing his hands to his face. 

“I am no man.” 

“Oh shut _up._ You did _not_ just compare blowing me to slaying a ring-wraith. I hate you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly this needs to be a trilogy. Anyone have any terrible suggestive logos/business names? Tell me stuff in the comments


End file.
